


Sweetest Poison

by cybergoth



Series: Competition short fics [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergoth/pseuds/cybergoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it a dream, or a nightmare...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest Poison

Tseng woke up in a cold sweat, sitting up bolt upright, momentarily unseeing as he tried to grasp at reality. As he became accustomed to the darkness of his familiar surroundings he gritted his teeth in abject frustration, hands fisting the sheets as he shook with shame. As always the sheets and his stomach were soiled and sticky. Angrily he threw the offending material back and marched to the shower, turning it on forcefully and getting under the water. His fist clenched he leant against the smooth tiles as he washed away the evidence of his shame, trying to ignore the fact that he was on the verge of tears in utter frustration. 

Here in this place that was his own, he showed far more emotion than he would ever show to those who knew him, his employer, his colleagues, both of whom he could call his friends. No, when on the job he hid behind his mask, none of them would know that at night, he was in desperate turmoil, coming apart at the seams. In fact he swore he was quietly going mad. Night after night it was the same, and every time his shame got worse. During the day he watched those he knew with jealousy. Rufus had Reno, and hell, despite the fact that it was still a relatively hidden relationship it was normal. He looked at Vincent when their paths crossed, and found himself envious. The man was in the oddest relationship ever with a formal homicidal warmonger, but he was actually happy.

He never thought that he would see the day that he identified with Cloud of all people, desperately unhappy and pining for someone who was dead and gone. And yet he would rather have been in Cloud’s position than his own. Cloud was simply grieving, burying himself in his work as he longed for a lost lover, he on the other hand…

He got out of the shower, obsidian hair sticking to his skin as the water ran off it, his mood not having improved with the shower. As he found himself doing every night he stripped the soiled cover and sheets from the bed with more force than was necessary, placing them in the laundry chute to be cleaned before remaking the bed. But even with that done he looked at the bed with suspicion, almost dread. He did wonder if sleeping somewhere else, at Rude’s apartment perhaps, would solve the problem, but he could not risk someone seeing this, realising how weak he had become.

It had all started with those bloody Remnants, getting caught by them in the Northern Crater. Elena could not have seen them coming so he did the only he could, push her behind him and take the bullet, making sure she got Jenova’s head to the chopper and Reno. The Remnants shouldn’t have bloody been there but they were, and as a result had taken advantage of his injury to drag him off to ‘question’ him. But Elena was a Turk, she carried out her mission, and then came back for him, Turks looked after their own. But it wasn’t just that and he knew it. She couldn’t leave him behind because she cared about him too much, maybe even loved him. He couldn’t be angry with the foolish girl for that.

It was then he had met the youngest remnant, feline grace matching the green eyes of a man who had once run him through with a monstrous sword. That scar was something the young man’s touch had lingered on with a cruel, almost knowing smirk, though there was no way he could have known what had happened at the temple. And then it had started. He hadn’t talked, neither had Elena, and he respected her so much for that, but she had screamed. And over the cacophony of her screams, his own cries of pain, there had been those eyes burning into his mind, his very soul. He would never forget the malice and enjoyment etched on those youthful features, he would not be allowed to. 

Rescue had come in a flurry of gunshots and a red cape. A former Turk had treated them with kindness and gentle hands, but it did nothing for the image burned into his mind that even then would not let him go. 

It was only a day after the remnants’ deaths when the first dream came to him. It took him completely by surprise, and actually scared him. Lying helpless as clever hands worked him out of his suit, brushing over his skin, mako green eyes boring into him, and those full lips twisted into that knowing smirk. Why he did not move to stop it he didn’t know, nor could he explain why he shivered under that touch. Then those lips had pressed to his, tasting of sweetness and death, poison on his tongue. He had woken shaken and confused. But that had only been the beginning.

The dreams became nightly fare, and night after night, Kadaj came to him, in dreams so real he lost grip on reality. Every night the silver haired youth took his indiscretions further and further until he was waking sticky and spent, and just as ashamed as he had been as a teen when wet dreams had first assailed him. And it wasn’t enough that his ghost, no, he was nothing more than a memory, haunted him every night. Should his mind wander, or he become distracted, Kadaj was in his thoughts. He had almost been caught by Rufus twice now, lost in thought about clever hands that made him gasp and moan when he drifted into dreams. 

Was it possible that his shade was haunting him from beyond, from the very Lifestream itself? Wutain legend would have it so, folklore was filled with such stories. Was Kadaj a demon, a subuccus come to drain him of his sanity? It made no sense. If these dreams were a product of his own desires why would they feature a youth who had tortured him and yet he had no attraction to? But it was images of the things the fearless youngster did to him that brought him to release when he lay alone. And nothing else worked anymore.

And so here he stood, towel round his waist, looking at the bed wondering if he was being haunted, if he was indeed going insane, actually trembling a little in fear. He was frightened of what he felt about these dreams, of how deep he was falling, and how willing he was to fall…

He reluctantly looked at the clock which only confirmed that he needed more sleep whether he wanted it or not. He groaned, hating this situation, hating himself a little. He knew he was damned and there was nothing he could do about it. He left the towel round him thinking it prudent, he knew what was coming anyway. He climbed into bed trying not to think about it, what was to come, or the decision he knew he had made. Even as he fought it sleep stole over him quickly and he was soon drifting in the realm of his dreams.

Soft hands brushed over his shoulders just so, making him shiver. 

“Have you come to your senses yet?”

Tseng couldn’t answer, not yet, his voice choked by so many emotions. 

“It doesn’t matter,” came the feline purr. “I have all the time in the world.”

Tseng shuddered and moaned softly as those hands ghosted over his bare chest and down his body. 

“You are poison,” he whispered desperately.

“You never stop me,” the youth retorted amused.

And he was right, Tseng never did. Even now he was trying to fight it, but it was a losing battle and they both knew it. 

“Poor little Turk, knows what he wants but is too afraid to take it.”

Then those green eyes were above him, boring into his very soul, that smirk he wanted to smack off his face firmly in place. Yet his hand trembled as he reached out hesitantly with long, thin fingers to gently caress silver hair. Kadaj had won, and he had done so a very long time ago. It was just that Tseng was stubborn. But trembling fingers suddenly grasped silken hair tightly, and pulled that poisoned mouth to his own as Tseng finally gave in, willingly partaking of that deadly honeyed tongue, quietly thinking to himself that if he was going to be damned to Hell, then he might as well enjoy it. Kadaj purred as at last, Tseng surrendered to his fate.

When morning he came he woke peacefully until his hand stretched out pulling back as if burned as he felt the fading heat of another body. He reached out to the imprint, aware of the youth’s scent lingering on the pillow beside him.

“Kadaj,” he breathed in wonder.

In surrender he’d found happiness. At last, after countless restless nights, Tseng smiled.


End file.
